The National Preceptor: Or, Selections in Prose and Poetry; Consisting of Narrative, Descriptive, Argumentative, Didactic, Pathetic, and Humorous Pieces ...
Goodwin and Robinson & Pratt, 1838 - 336 pàgines
Què en diuen els usuaris - Escriviu una ressenya
No hem trobat cap ressenya als llocs habituals.
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Pàgina 156 - The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
Pàgina 297 - IT must be so — Plato, thou reason'st well ! — Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality ? Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, Of falling into nought ? why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us ; 'Tis heaven itself, that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man.
Pàgina 280 - Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us.
Pàgina 158 - One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his favorite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; "The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne. Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Pàgina 328 - twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet.— But hark!
Pàgina 328 - And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war...
Pàgina 301 - Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts: — not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play — Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — Such as creation's dawn beheld thou rollest now.
Pàgina 294 - O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what ! weep you, when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.
Pàgina 303 - Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free ; They touch our country, and their shackles fall. That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, And let it circulate through every vein Of all your empire ; that, where Britain's power Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.
Pàgina 258 - Ye winds, that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more. My friends , — do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see.